Sherlock : A Second Face for Moriarty
by rebekah17
Summary: Sherlock - Post Reichenbach - many feels with much angst and a surprise twist. This is now a finished work. John/Sherlock. Adventure/Romance. Sexual content and some language at times.
1. Chapter 1

***I do not own the rights to Sherlock BBC***

The first time I heard rumor that he was alive I dismissed it as just that; a rumor.

Mistakes are not something that would have been allowed. They didn't happen. My brother would have never allowed it.

Especially not this one.

The death of Sherlock Holmes was his final and greatest victory and it would remain as such. That was the way it was going to be. That was what he had wanted, so that was what I wanted.

Though I had dismissed them early on, the rumors continued to spread throughout our networks and connections and filter through to the very tips of the fingers and toes of his operation like a blood born ailment and though I still refused to doubt my brother's judgment I began to realize this was a disease that needed to be stopped.

There was only one way to do this. I could, of course, just begin exterminating anyone I heard speak of this supposed resurrection, but I wasn't in the practice of killing the way Jim had been. Even if I was I would never have never been able put an end to the stories completely. I was feared, definitely… but nothing compared to my brother. These people obeyed all his motions as though they were puppets and he their master. They would have slipped right through my fingers. It was outside of my control. I couldn't ignore it. I tried to for months.

It was time to find Doctor Watson.

**CHAPTER ONE**

The train to London smelled retched. There was a suspicious stain on the right front corner of my seat. I sat scrunched against the left arm rest.

My brother had never told me much about his work. I knew what he had been, sort of a consulting criminal; the alpha male. We argued about it frequently. Not about the stealing and the money, that part I enjoyed. I enjoyed it immensely. I wore the money, mostly – in gorgeous tailored belted dresses, riding boots and pearls. I loved walking Gladstone, my Scottish terrier in our matching jackets down the street and watching the men gawk and the women glare. We looked like a Burberry add. I loved the money.

We argued about the death.

It followed him everywhere, and it affected us all. It killed our father. It haunted our mother. It consumed my nightmares.

We never knew where he was going or when he was coming back, but he always seemed to know where we were. Sometimes he wouldn't actually come home between jobs but instead he would just purposefully bump into one of us at a grocery store or show up for a movie at the same time only to disappear again right after. He always knew just where to find us and just when we needed to see him. The last day I laid eyes on him he had shown up at my apartment with a big bag of red apples. I found him there after I had come home from getting lunch with a friend. He was sitting on my back balcony staring out into nothing, yet seeing everything as he always did.

I sat down next to him. "Hey, Jimmy. Haven't seen you in almost eight weeks."

He didn't move. "I know. Been busy. Oh, ever so…so busy." His eyebrows went up with his inflection on the second 'so' and stayed there. His voice was as distant as his gaze.

We sat in silence for quite a while. I had thought nothing of it at the time; this was normal. He never made any sense and I had stopped trying to understand him years ago.

I got up and patted his knee. "Well, I'm going inside, Jimmy… got to feed Gladdy. He's going to get annoyingly clingy anytime if I don't. Let me know if you need anything."

"It's a long way down, isn't it?"

I turned back around. "What? You mean off the balcony?"

He nodded, still staring out into space and made a downward motion with his hand, as if an airplane was falling out of the sky. He accompanied the motion with the appropriate descending whistle.

I paused. "Uh, yeah… five stories I think. You wouldn't want to jump it."

A smile slowly crossed his face. "Oh, no. We wouldn't want that." He got up and grabbed the bag of apples from next to his chair. "These are for you, Sis." He handed them to me.

I accepted them; He'd given me much odder gifts in the past. "Oh, thanks. Don't you want them, though? It looks like you just bought them. Did you change your mind?"

"No, of course not. But I only needed one. Just one." He smiled again and kissed me on the forehead. "Goodbye, Sis. I love you." He walked inside towards my front door, and I followed.

"Bye, Jimmy. Stay safe, please." I always said this, as though the words 'stay safe' held some sort of magic charm that would bring him home again next time.

He opened the front door and turned back around to face me. He threw the apple up in the air and caught it, then winked at me and shut the door behind him.

That was it. If I had known that was the last time I would have hugged him or told him I loved him back or tried to keep him there or… something. I would have done _something._

The train jerked to a stop and snapped me back to reality. I had relived that final day so many times, each time clearer than the last, each time searching for a solution but never finding it. I grabbed my luggage and Gladdy's leash and exited the train, everything around me a blur. I was on a mission. I could not be distracted. I found myself wondering if this was how Jim used to feel when he did whatever it was he used to do. I knew I had to be fearless, he'd taught me that. He'd taught me many things, just in case, he always said. Just in case.

Baker Street.

I didn't know much about Sherlock Holmes but everybody knew that he lived at 221B Baker Street with his overly faithful companion, Doctor John Watson. In the photographs he always looked like such a pathetic man, walking in Sherlock's shadow. I'd assumed that he would have stayed in the same flat out of sentiment so I'd settled across the road on a conveniently located bench. About twenty minutes later my theory proved to be correct as a cab slowed down in front of the building. Thank God, it was getting late and freezing out… Gladdy and I had begun shivering in unison. A short little man got out with sandy colored hair wearing a violently festive jumper. He walked with cane, and without purpose. I knew getting in to the flat was going to be simple. I was young and beautiful. He was lonely.

I needed the perfect setup. I kept my watch on him, while also glancing down the road. He was fumbling for his keys.

Just as he found his keys another cab came around the corner. Perfect. It was almost too easy. "Sit, Gladdy, Stay."

I ran out into the road. "Excuse, me! Excuse me, Sir!" He turned around just in time to see the impact. I flew up onto the hood and did a controlled summersault off on to the pavement.

I moaned and rolled dramatically on my side as the cabby opened his door. "Bloody hell – Lady! What the?"

"Stand back! Stand back, it's okay, I'm a Doctor. Hold on…" Watson limped over and crouched down next to me, wincing. "You alright? Miss, are you okay?"

I sat up slowly. His voice was gentle. So were his eyes; gentle and tired. There were huge bags under them; his whole face was shadowed and worn, it looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. "Miss, are you okay? I'm a Doctor, it's alright."

"Yeah, yeah… I think I'm good. My leg hurts, though… my leg…" I lifted up my knee length skirt, revealing a gash and purple bruise starting to form on my upper left thigh.

Watson pursed his lips. "Yup, that'll do it. Did you hit your head?" He cupped the right side of my face in his hand. His hand was warm in the bitter autumn air. He smelled like cinnamon.

"No, my head is fine."

"Good, that's good. I'd like to clean up that leg, though… I have everything in my flat. It's right upstairs. Right there." He pointed behind us. "I'll bandage you up."

The cabbie leaned uneasily against his door. "Should I call the police, or…?"

"No, no, that's fine. I'm fine." I interrupted him. "I'd rather not deal with it. It was my fault, anyway, I wasn't looking."

Watson pushed himself up using his cane and extended his hand. "Come on, let's get out of the road, shall we?" He forced a half smile.

"Sorry about the mess, I don't usually have anyone up except Mrs. Hudson, my landlady. Make yourself comfortable, I'll just grab my kit." He went off into what I could assume was a bedroom.

The apartment was small and cluttered. There were books and papers stacked everywhere. The kitchen was full of a random assortment of jars and there was a microscope on the table. In the living room a violin was leaning against a music stand by the window. Everything seemed to be covered in a thin layer of dust. Gaddy jumped up on a leather couch as Watson came back in the room.

"I'm sorry, should he be up there? He's very comfortable in new places… too comfortable, I'm afraid."

"Oh, no he's fine."

"Doctor, is that a skull on your mantle?" Watson looked over at it and smiled, a real one this time.

"Yes, it is. Friend of mine." He smiled to himself as though remembering something funny, looked at the skull for a moment and then shook his head. "Alright, shall we? Let's see the damage."

I sat in a chair and moved the side of my skirt up again. The bruise was already spreading. I secretly thought it was beautiful; I had always been the child on the playground to show off my war wounds and brag about scars. I put on my best damsel in distress voice."Oh, it looks awful. My leg looks horrible!"

Watson crouched down and put some antiseptic on a cloth and started dabbing my leg. "I don't think anything could make your legs look horrible." He then immediately looked mortified. "I'm sorry, no… I'm sorry that came out wrong."

I was right. He was pathetic. I put on my sweetest smile. "It's alright, I knew what you meant. It was nice of you."

More awkward silence. The apartment smelled like tea and newspaper.

"So, do you live here alone then?"

He looked up. "What?"

"Do you live here alone? I mean, there's so much… so many interesting things…here."

He pulled out some sort of huge adhesive bandage. "Yes. I used to have a roommate, that's his stuff. He did a lot of… um… research, I guess you could call it."

"Is he here now?"

"No, no he's not here anymore. He hasn't been in a long time." His face went dark, his eyes glassy.

"Why not? Did you two have a fight or something?"

His eyes glanced up at me, then back to my leg. He cleared his throat and blinked furiously. "So, what brings you to London? I see you have a bag. Are you here on holiday?"

"Not really. My brother died. I'm here to take care of something."

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

We sat in silence for a while. It was going to be harder to get him to talk about Sherlock than I thought. I could tell, however, that if Sherlock Holmes was alive John Watson did not know. It was written all over his face. My stomach sank. I was half hoping that he had been living with John, kept secretly away in the apartment like some sort of voluntary prisoner, and that was obviously not the case.

"John, sweetheart… I picked up your mail for you this morning, and you should see the front of the papers, just dreadful… Ohh!" A middle aged woman stood in the doorway, hand on her mouth, eyes on my exposed thigh. John quickly stood up.

"It's alright, Mrs. Hudson…"

"No, no I'm sorry Dears, I didn't know…."

"No, it's nothing…"

"If I'd have known you had a lady friend round…"

"She's not my…"

"You could've at least locked the door…"

"I was hit by a car!" I jumped up.

"What?" Mrs. Hudson turned to me.

"I was hit by a car. Downstairs, in the road and he's fixing my leg. I hurt it. See?" I turned my gash towards her.

"Oh, oh you poor thing, it was one of those horrible taxis wasn't it? Let me make you a cuppa!" Mrs. Hudson started towards the kitchen.

John followed her. "No, Mrs. Hudson.. no…" he turned toward me. "I'm so sorry, that's my landlady I mentioned earlier, she's a little too helpful sometimes… MRS. HUDSON!" He followed her into the kitchen and started steering her back towards the door.

"But she was hit by a car! She at least needs some tea…"

"No, no, thank you… that will be all!" He gently pushed her into the hallway.

"But..!"

"Goodnight, Mrs. Hudson!" He shut the door and leaned his back against it. "Sorry."

I pulled my skirt down over my leg and brushed out the wrinkles. "That's fine, she seems very sweet. Thanks for fixing my leg."

He moved out of the way of the door. "Sure, yeah. It looks good, nothing too bad. You shouldn't need stitches, just keep it clean and dry and remember to look both ways before you cross." He opened the door. I wasn't done yet. I needed more information.

"Doctor, do you mind, where is the loo?"

"Oh, sure, not at all, right through that door there." He motioned to a little hallway.

I shut the door behind me, closed the toilet lid and sat down. I was getting frustrated and my leg was actually starting to ache a bit, perhaps I should have allowed myself to get his attention with something a little less lethal. I stood up and looked in the mirror. I had hoped it wasn't going to come to this, but I had no other choice. He wasn't talking. I was going to have to get my information the old fashioned way.

A few minutes later, I opened the bathroom door and walked back into the main room. "Doctor, my leg is still bothering me. Do you think you could take a second look?"

He was facing the other direction in a large chair, reading the paper Mrs. Hudson had just brought. "Sure thing." He put the paper on his lap and turned around. His eyes became huge and he jumped up. "What are you doing?"

I was wearing nothing but my stiletto heels and a black lacy matching bra set, one of my favorites. I'd worn it just in case he'd needed some convincing. In previous endeavors, it had never failed me, and when it did… I had my handgun. I'd left that in my purse. I did not anticipate needed it. "Well…" I sauntered toward him. "I thought maybe I could give you a very special thank you for all your help." I let my fingertips playfully pull on his jumper collar.

He pushed my hand back. "That really isn't necessary."

"Why not? You said your roommate won't be back."

"No, he won't."

"Well then…" I whispered, leaning in for a kiss. "It's been years since I've had a proper physical." I could feel his body heat on my skin.

He turned his head away. "Look, I'm flattered, but… aren't you here with family or something?"

I backed up. "What?"

"You told me earlier, your brother just died and you're here to take care of some business. Aren't you here with your family?"

"No."

"They just sent you here to look after your dead brother's estate?"

I crossed my arms. This wasn't working. "I don't have any family. He was it. Happy?" I turned back toward the bathroom, my mind focused intently on my deadly assistant still loyally waiting for me in my bag.

"No, wait! No, I'm sorry. That was none of my business… it's just…" his voice trailed off and he looked over at the violin in the corner. "You know what I _would_ like?"

Oh, no. A specific request. I hated those. I turned back to him, putting my hand on my hip and raising my brow. "What's that, Doctor?" I purred.

"Some conversation."

I dropped my arm, surprised. "Oh."

"You see, I've been alone for quite some time… my roommate, he passed away, too, and I think it might be nice, to just, you know, talk."

I paused. "About what?"

"Anything. Nothing at all. It's nice to have a body up in 221B Baker Street again that's not Mrs. Hudson, not that I don't love Mrs. Hudson, but, you know."

"Right." I studied his face. He looked sincere. His eyes were pleading somehow, like he was waiting for his mother to tell him it was okay to have a sweet. "Sure, conversation sounds nice." The sex sounded less exhausting.

"Good. That's… that's good." He picked up his cane and started off toward the kitchen. "Now you get dressed and I'll make us some tea."

I turned toward the bathroom. "Thank you. Oh, and Doctor?" I turned back.

"Yes?" He poked his head out of the kitchen. "Call me John, by the way. John Watson."

"I'm sorry about your friend." I wasn't.

He nodded. "Thanks. Me, too." He turned back towards the kitchen.

"Oh, and John?"

He poked his head back out. I had to admit, there was something adorable and comforting about this strange little man. I could see why Sherlock had thought he was worth keeping round. "Yes?"

"Doctor John Watson? You may call me Mary."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

We talked for a long time that evening. It started out with the basics; where did we grow up… where did we attend university and so on. After we got the necessary preliminaries out of the way I mostly let John talk, he seemed like he needed to be the one who did the most talking and that made it easier for me to not have to cover up some of the more unfortunate details of my family history. He told me about how his mum made the best blueberry pie he'd ever had and about how Gladstone reminded him of a little dog he'd had growing up. He told me about how his parents had always favored his sister at Christmastime with presents and how he liked to mix Cadbury buttons in with his popcorn at the movies. He told me stories of men saving other men on the battlefield – of men losing their lives and who they spent their last breathes calling out for. Stories of how it felt to try and re-adjust to civilian life after being surrounded by war and how a therapist is never the magic cure everyone claims them to be. Despite who he was and my motivation for being there I found myself completely engrossed by his stories. I was drawn in by his blunt honesty and sometimes graphically vivid descriptions of these past events in his life. I found myself wondering why these were the memories that made their way to the forefront of his mind and how many people he'd shared these sometimes seemingly insignificant moments in his life with. I completely forgot he wasn't talking about Sherlock or that I was supposed to be steering him in that direction. I forgot where I was and that I was seemingly conversing with the enemy. I forgot that Gladdy hadn't been outside to go to the bathroom in several hours.

"Oh, shit! Oh, no! I'm so sorry! Gladdy!" I scrambled over to the corner where he was currently peeing a small lake.

"No it's okay, that's fine… nothing we can't undo." John got up and walked into the kitchen. "I've got a rag right here… here we go…" he came over and crouched down next to me, wincing as he knelt down and started to wipe it up.

"I'm mortified. Really, I'm so sorry. You should let me do that."

"No, of course not. This is nothing, really. You should have seen some of the things I saw in the army. No, scratch that - you should have seen some of the things Sherlock used to bring home."

"Sherlock?" It was the first time John had actually said his name.

"He was my old flatmate. Sherlock Holmes."

I played stupid. "You mean from the papers?"

John stood up and walked past me back into the kitchen to throw away the rag. "Yeah, I suppose so." He came back into the room. "All better. No permanent harm done."

"So, Sherlock…"

"I'd rather not talk about him if you don't mind. I've had a perfectly lovely evening and I'd hate to ruin it by talking about Sherlock. He was a brilliant man and he's gone now and I'd just rather… he's just gone. Okay? Let's just not."

I nodded and we shared a moment of reflective silence. "Well…" I reached for my phone that I had set on the side table at some point earlier in the evening. "Poor Gladdy, he must be even more embarrassed than I am. He never has accidents… it's my fault, I hadn't taken him out in… Oh, wow."

"What?"

"It's four. Like Four A.M. I have to go." I started to gather my things.

"Where are you staying? Let me get you a cab."

"Um, nowhere yet. I was just going to grab a room somewhere when I got here."

"You can stay here, you know."

I stopped, tensing up. "What?"

He took a step forward. "I mean, just for tonight. If you want. You can take my room. I'll take the couch."

I relaxed. "Yeah… yeah that'd be great, thanks."

I accidently spent the next four days living with John Watson.

I couldn't leave. I fully intended to… that was my first thought every morning when I woke up. "Today is the day. This is it. I'm done." I would say to myself… then I would walk out into the living room and Mrs. Hudson would have made pancakes or homemade scones and cream or cut up a plate of fresh fruit and I'd tell myself I was only staying for breakfast, and then only for lunch and then suddenly it was time for bed. We did a lot of talking and laughing. He was addicting, this Doctor John Watson. I couldn't put my finger on exactly why and I didn't care to. I'd never experienced anything like what it was for me to stay with this man, to be treated like a person and not an object or a number. He would ask my opinions as if he genuinley wanted to know them and really listened to my responses. He opened the door for me and took Gladdy outside if it was late and I was tired and averted his eyes when I walked from the bathroom to the bedroom wearing only a towel. To put it simply, spending time with him made me feel happy and safe. I hadn't felt either in a long time… since long before Jim had died. We didn't do a lot, we just existed together and that was enough. Our days were about tea and television and grocery stores and books and conversation. I felt like I was living what I had previously assumed it must mean to be a normal human being… safe, cared for, invisible to those whom I had never met… which is something that I had never quite experienced.

On the fourth night we were watching television together, some run of the mill late night show with a musical guest I'd never heard of. John had gotten up to get a glass of water. As he limped back into the room he flicked off the light and I decided to ask a question I'd been holding onto for the last couple of days.

"John, What's going on with your leg? Why do you walk with that thing?"

He sat down next to me. "I got shot."

"Yes I know, in Afganistan, you told me." I could tell he was trying to avoid the question."So you've used it every day since the accident? For the past however many years?"

"No." He paused, running his hand across his mouth. He broke into a brief smile and then bowed his head. "No, there was a time where I didn't need it. I suppose I was…" he motioned into the air as if searching for the right word. "…distracted. I don't know."

I inched closer. "But then if there was a bit where you didn't need it, what happened? I mean why are you using it again? When you walk into a room you don't ask for a chair, it's almost like you forget about it unless you're moving. I don't understand."

There was a long pause. His eyes glassed over and he bowed his head again and answered me in almost a whisper. "Because it still hurts."

"What does? Your leg?"

He turned his head away from me.

"John?"

He put his hands over his eyes and breathed in deeply and slowly, the light from the television dancing across the side of his face. I had never seen him like this before. I tried to reach out to him and he put his hand up to keep me away. I sank back into the couch. "Talk to me, John."

His voice came out small, like a child's. "I miss him so much." His voice elevated. I could hear him struggling past the lump in his throat. "It hurts… so bad…it hurts everywhere…I am so… _alone_…" his voice cracked and he broke into sobs, holding his head in hands. "Oh God...I miss him _so much_…."

I watched him weep for a moment, not knowing what to do. I had come here to use and possibly even kill this man but now as I sat there watching him, completely raw and open, exposing his deepest and most personal wound I felt something completely awful and completely foreign.

My heart was breaking.

"There are days where I _can't even breathe_…it hurts and I _can't breathe_…"

I knelt down on the floor in front of him and put my hands around the back of his neck, pressing his forehead against my own. He took his hands off his face and grabbed hold of my wrists, his tears streaming down both of our faces.

"John…" I closed my eyes that were beginning to sting with their own tears. "John, I'm so sorry that this happened to you. It's not okay. It's never going to be okay, but, John…." I swallowed hard and felt a tear roll down my cheek. "John… I could never replace… but…I'm _right here_."

He looked up at me, our faces only a few inches apart. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot and he looked at me with a mixture of confusion and desperation and suddenly I heard myself say, "… and I'm not going anywhere."

He pulled my face against his and kissed me hard and I completely melted into him. I hadn't known that I had been aching for this moment but suddenly everything was right and there was nothing else but the two of us in this embrace, nothing else in the world. He broke the kiss and stared intently into my eyes as if he was searching them, holding my face in his hands and using his thumbs to wipe away my tears. "Thank you." he whispered.

We sat liked that for a moment and I put my hand on his. "I didn't do anything."

He broke into a smile and leaned back into the couch, wiping underneath his eyes. "You remind me of him sometimes, you know."

I sat up on the coffee table that was right behind me. "Oh, is that how you get all the girls, then? You remind me of my dead male flatmate?" I gently teased.

He smiled again and let out a quick laugh and looked down at his hands. "No, no I mean… you're different, like he was. Not in the same way he was, but different."

"What do you mean?"

He kept his gaze downward at his hands, fiddling with his fingernails. "You… you notice things." He turned his eyes toward me, his head still lowered. "You notice me."

I studied his face. "You were a surprise, Doctor John Watson."

He looked away for a moment then turned back to me, leaning forward. "You know, I'm full of surprises."

I cocked my head. "Oh, really? What kind of surprises?" I leaned forward. "Should I be nervous?"

"You know, maybe…I mean, I did go to medical school…"

I stood up and pushed him backwards. "You don't say?"

"That gives me the ability to do all sorts of mean Doctor things to you…"

I laughed and he grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me down on top of him and kissed me again. He kissed me long and hard and I fell completely into his chest. He kissed me across the living room and he kissed me down the hallway. He kissed me against his bedroom door then he kissed me as he lowered me slowly down onto his bed.

His left his cane, forgotten, in the living room.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

I had never slept naked with anyone before.

In the past I had used my body many times to get what I wanted or something my brother needed but I had always covered up to sleep or left right afterwards. But with John I didn't feel exposed or uncomfortable. I felt warm and content and incredibly safe being nothing but myself.

When I woke up that morning John was still asleep. I smiled as I remembered how he had held me and stroked my arm until I fell asleep, our chests rising and falling in unison. I gently rolled out from between his arms and laid on my side so I was facing him. _"How did this happen to me?"_ I thought. I studied his face, thinking about how every line and tiny scar had its own hidden story. I smiled and ran my fingertips over his lips and then touched my own. I decided that it didn't matter how this came to be, it just mattered that it had. I couldn't imagine ever leaving 221B Baker Street.

I put on a robe and went out in to the main room to take Gladdy outside. Before I went out I put my coat on over my robe and the pot on the stove for tea. Gladdy and I were only outside for a bit, it was freezing cold. I ran up the stairs to the apartment, looking forward to the warm couch and a hot mug of tea. As I approached the apartment door Gladdy stopped dead in his tracks within about two feet of the door. "Gladdy, come on!" I yanked on his leash. He let out a low growl. I stopped, confused. I'd never heard him growl like that before. "Gladdy, what's the matter with you?" Another growl. I rolled my eyes impatiently and bent down to pick him up."Gladdy, this is stupid, I want my tea, come on… AH!" I dropped him and shook my hand where he had bitten me, hard. "Damn!" I shook my hand. "Gladdy, what's gotten into you?" I took off my coat and wrapped him completely in it so I could pick him up. He started screeching and struggling like I was beating the life out of him. I held him up smashed between me and the door so I could free up a hand to turn the knob. When I finally got the door open I gasped and dropped Gladdy immediately. The window, which had been securely closed in the bitter cold was wide open and as the apartment door swung and hit the wall I saw the corner of a black coat disappear into the autumn air.

Gladdy backed himself against the far wall, barking and growling furiously.

"Mary!"

I grabbed my gun out of my purse on the floor and ran over to the window. Nothing. I leaned out as far as I could, looking in all directions, leading with my gun. Nothing.

"Mary!" John came running out of the bedroom, throwing a t-shirt on as he scrambled towards me. "Mary, what's…?" He stopped, eyes on my gun. "Why do you have a gun?"

"Do you have a gun?"

"Of course I have a gun."

"Well then there you go." I walked into the kitchen, gun at the ready, looking around corners as I went.

John ran over to the window and slammed it shut. "What's going on?"

I came back into the living room, eyeing every corner. "Do you smell that?"

"Smell what?"

"Cigarettes."

"I don't smell anything. Mary, what happ…."

"I saw someone."

He walked over to me. "What? What are you talking…"

"Someone was here! I saw someone!" I ran over to the window again. "They were jumping out the window when I came in from outside. They were in this room!"

"Well they're not here now." His eyes widened. "You're hurt." He came over and grabbed my hand. "Come here, you're bleeding everywhere."

I looked down. I was. There was blood all over my robe and running in streaks like red paint down my arm. "Oh, sorry."

He pulled me toward the kitchen and stuck my arm in the sink, turning on the warm water. "Don't be sorry." He started rinsing out the wounds on my hand and his brow furrowed. "Did Gladdy bite you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He was scared."

We stood in silence for a moment. I could see him thinking. He turned to me, opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, and then turned away again. More silence.

He shook his head, then turned back to me. "No, I can't, I'm sorry…why do you have a gun?"

"I thought we already had this conversation."

"Yes, but I have a gun because I was in the army and I'm not even technically supposed to have it. This is London. Nobody has a gun."

"Well, I do."

He turned off the water and grabbed an old towel out of a drawer. "Are you with the police?"

"No, of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

"Mary, I'm not kidding." He stopped what he was doing and looked me straight in the eye, his voice calm but serious. "Now you are in my house and I need to know why you have that gun."

I stared back at him. He raised his eyebrows. "Well?"

I looked at the floor. "My brother… he was not exactly involved with the best group of people."

John crossed his arms. "Okay. I'm listening."

"I don't think you noticed last night because it was dark."

"Noticed what?"

I swallowed nervously. I'd never brought attention to this before. It was easy to hide because it was along my side under my right arm. I slowly took off my robe and turned my right side to him, raising my arm.

He raised his eyebrows and walked over to me, running his fingers over the long scar. "Mary." He whispered. "What happened?"

I put my arm down and grabbed my robe again. "I got shot. And now I have a gun, just in case. Because I don't want to get shot again. Because it hurts. Okay?" I quickly put my robe back on and tied it, feeling ashamed in front of him for the first time.

He could tell. He nodded his head. "Okay."

An hour or so later I sat on the couch, drinking a cup of tea and ignoring the news that was on the television in the background. John was in the shower. We had both fully searched the apartment and found nothing in every sense of the word – nothing left behind, nothing missing. I looked into my tea, running my hands over the mug. I was anxious. Was I being followed? Was I putting John and Mrs. Hudson in danger? Now that Jim was dead everything in our world was turning to chaos. People were becoming power hungry. Everybody knew he had been sitting on millions of dollars when he died and that I was the obvious heir. I'd received numerous death threats, but hadn't cared. I'd had death threats before. Somehow in my time spent at 221B Baker Street I'd allowed that world to become too far away in my mind and even though I didn't want to admit it, it was still my reality. I knew I had to tell John who I was. He was smart. I could tell that he knew something wasn't right and not telling him was insulting and hurtful. I took a sip of tea and felt the mixture of the cold ceramic and hot liquid on my lips. I looked around the now familiar apartment surrounding me, finding myself wondering if I was reliving a familiar scene… curious of when Sherlock had lived here where he had sat and used that incredible brain of his. I studied my mug and wondered if he ever sipped tea from this particular mug, his hands and lips feeling the same sensations as my own. My stomach turned and I sat the mug down hard on the coffee table.

It was then that I received a text.

Be in the apartment alone at 2pm.

SH

My breath caught in my throat. I put my hand over my mouth and read it again, then re-read it, barely believing what I saw.

_SH. _

"It was _you_." I whispered, replaying the black coat of the morning in my mind. "You _are_ alive, you clever bastard."

"What was that?" John came out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair with a towel.

I quickly put my phone in my lap. "Nothing. Just muttering to myself, that's all."

He nodded, studying my face. "Okay." I could feel the tension between us. I hated it. He grabbed a shirt off the back of the living room chair and started to put it on. "I wish you'd tell me what's wrong."

"I'm fine."

"No you're not." He came and sat down next to me, buttoning his cuffs. "Is this about your brother?"

"Yes, I suppose you could say that."

"Do you miss him?"

I was staring straight ahead at nothing. "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

I bowed my head. "I loved him very much. But…." I sighed and turned to look at him. "But I don't know."

I could feel him taking me in. Everything from my body language to my tone of voice to the place I had chosen to set my tea. I felt like a specimen in a box. "Tell me about him."

"He's none of your business." I snapped.

"What? Mary…"

I stood up and walked towards the opposite wall. "My brother is none of your business, okay? None! I don't want to talk about him! If I did I would just do it! I would need your stupid therapist bullshit prompting me!"

He stood up. "Now you listen here…!"

"No, you listen!" I spun around, facing him, spitting venom. "I don't force you to talk about Sherlock and I expect you to respect me in the same way, do you understand? They're both dead! They're fucking dead and talking about them won't fix anything!"

"Mary!"

"SHUT UP!." I started towards the bedroom door.

"Get back here! You're acting like a child!" He quickly came after me.

I turned around in the bedroom doorway. "Don't follow me." I slammed the door in his face and slid down the other side of it, tears streaming down my face, my arms around my mid section.

"Mary! Mary… please come out.." His voice came muffled through the door.

"I don't want to see you right now!" I shouted at him. But I did. I wanted to curl up in his arms and apologize and kiss him everywhere he'd let me and never let go. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of this. I was acting out of pure panic. I had no idea what to do. I had put us both in danger. I wasn't used to protecting someone other than myself.

The hours passed. John eventually left the door and went about his day. I sat on the edge of his bed, my thoughts only interrupted by sporadic conversation between him and Mrs. Hudson and the jangling of Gladdy's tags as he'd walk across the floor. I was staring at a clock on the wall. I felt numb.

_Be in the apartment alone at 2pm._

_ SH_

At about 1:30 John opened the door a crack. "Can I come in yet?"

I stayed staring at the clock. "It's your room."

He walked in and opened a dresser drawer. "I need to get some things… I just got a text from Sarah. She needs me to come in to the clinic for a couple of hours, somebody called in."

I just nodded my head. _Clever bastard._

He paused for a moment, holding some slacks and a pair of shoes. "Okay, then." He turned to leave.

"I'm so sorry, John."

He stopped. "I know you are. I just wish you'd tell me."

"Tell you what?"

He turned to look at me. "I don't know. But I wish you would." I returned his gaze, and nodded, turning back to the wall.

"I'll be back in a bit. I hope you're here when I get home."

I heard him leave and listened to his footsteps as he walked towards the door. As soon as I heard the door shut I got up and walked into the living room and sat back on the couch.

1:45 PM.

My mug was still on the table. The milk had separated up to the top and created an ugly cloud over the rest of the tea. Gladdy jumped up and sat next to me and put her head in my lap. I stroked her, staring straight ahead.

1:50 PM.

A bird landed on the windowsill. He looked in the apartment, cocking his head as if he was hinting that he wanted to be invited in for a meal. Gladdy noticed and jumped up, running towards the window and scaring it away.

1:55 PM.

I got my gun out of my purse that had been on floor and set it down on the table in front of me. Gladdy jumped up next to me on the couch again and put her head back in my lap. I stroked her, staring straight ahead.

2:00 PM

I could feel the blood pumping in my forehead. I heard slow and deliberate footsteps coming from behind me in the kitchen, appearing out of nowhere. Gladdy jumped up and let out a low growl. The footsteps came closer, and stopped. I could feel him standing directly behind me, his shadow falling over me like a cloak. The smell of cigarette smoke faintly tickled my nose; the same smell from this morning.

"It's nice to meet you, Mary Moriarty." His voice was smooth and dark.

"It's nice to meet you, too, Sherlock Holmes."


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR **

Sherlock slowly walked around the side of the couch until he was in front of me. He stood there for a moment, studying me. He turned and slowly slid my gun on the table over and then sat down. All of his movements no matter how small were slow and graceful and deliberate. He took off his black leather gloves and sat them on the table next to my teacup. He leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees and then folded his hands. All of the feelings of anger and hatred surrounding my brother's death started to move their way to the surface, the images of what was left of his face when I had identified the body flashing through my mind. I made eye contact, his blue eyes clothed in shadows by his sharp cheekbones in the afternoon light. He was incredibly thin, his coat hung loosely on his jagged frame.

"What are you doing with John Watson?"

"I thought you'd know." My voice was low and dripping with distain. "Isn't that supposed to be what you're good at? The science of deduction? Have you lost your touch, Mr. Holmes?"

He didn't move, his words were quick and precise. "Don't be ridiculous of course I know why you originally came, to take care of the problem of _me_ and avenge your brother. It's all very sweet and sentimental really but that hickey on your right collarbone and the fact that you are wearing John's socks tells me that perhaps your original plans have changed." He put his hands in a praying position and ran his fingertips over his lips.

"The fact that I'm sleeping with John doesn't mean killing you isn't still my main purpose of being here."

He sat up. "Yes, but – and feel free to correct me if I'm wrong – your efforts seemed to have become rather nonexistent." He took something out of his coat and threw it in my lap. It was a small handgun. "You're obviously an idiot like the rest of them but I'm assuming you recognize this gun?" My heart stopped for a moment in my chest and the world started to spin. I slowly picked it up, running my hand over the barrel. I felt hot tears start to sting my eyes. Sherlock leaned in again so his head was only inches from my face. I could feel his breathe as he spoke. "Let me give you a hint. It's the same gun your precious brother shoved down his throat right before he blew out the back of skull."

I immediately stood up and pointed the gun at his head, my hands violently shaking. He sat back calmly. "I could kill you with it now you know. I could kill with the same gun right now!" I yelled, spitting in his face.

"That's the idea, Mary." When he said my name my stomach turned. "That's why I brought it to you. After all, it gives the story a more cinematic ending if I die at the hand of the same gun, don't you think?"

My eyes welled up with tears, my arms shaking more than they were before. "STAND UP!" I screamed.

He slowly stood, eyes fixed on me. His voice stayed cool and slow. "Don't miss, Mary. Little Jimmy would be highly disappointed in you."

I cocked the gun and pointed it at his head, my trigger finger aching. I backed up one step, slipping on the hardwood floor in my socks. John's socks.

_John._

I looked at the man in front of me, a man that filled with me with so much hatred I could literally taste it. A man I had traveled to London to kill and now here he was right in front of me and all I could see was John, crying and pouring his heart out to me on that couch while in so much emotional pain that he could barely breathe.

I threw the gun across the room and collapsed onto my knees, defeated. Silent tears streamed down my face and every breath seemed like a gasp for air and it burned as it went down. I heard Sherlock step towards me. "That's what I thought." He stopped, standing directly above me. "Does he love you as well?"

"Get away from me." I choked out, my voice catching in my throat. "Please, just leave. Just go."

"Despite you and John's current emotional circumstances you are the one that needs to leave."

I stood looked up at him, my words sharp and pointed. "You mean like you did?"

He moved forward, his eyes softening. I saw a flicker of desperation. "Mary, a man connected to your brother, Samael Harris is here, looking for you. You are putting John's life in danger. I gave my life to protect his and I absolutely will not allow anyone to put that in jeopardy."

I stood up, my legs trembling."You didn't give your life. You're standing right in front of me."

"A man can give his life without dying."

The lock on doorknob started to turn and both of our heads snapped to the door. John's voice came through the crack. "Mary? Mary I'm back…" He opened the door and turned to close it again. "It's funny, actually… I got to the clinic and Sarah told me she hadn't texted me to come and that she actually wasn't able to find her phone all day…" he turned back around to face me. "What's wrong? Have you been crying?" I turned back to where Sherlock had been standing in front of me seconds ago. He was gone. We were alone in the room.

John walked over to me and pulled me into an embrace. "Come here, It looks like you've just seen a bloody ghost." I leaned into his shoulder.

"Almost." I whispered. I put my arms around him and held on. I may have known him for less than a week but he smelled like home. I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I heard Sherlock's warning echoing fresh in my mind.

_Samael Harris._

Samael Harris was a name I heard and even just that confirmed the fact that he was dangerous. If you were worth a name in our world you were feared. His particular name was haunted by a huge array of stories dark enough to humble the bravest of men. I knew why he was after me, the money. I also knew that he had a lot of blood on his hands and he most likely wouldn't be here alone. He was known for his violent way of doing things. Jim had once told me that he only ever wore a suit once because by the end of the day it would be stained in crimson. At the time it sounded like a stupid exaggeration, something Jim did frequently but now as I held on to John and breathed him in it didn't seem so far from reality.

I backed out of his embrace. "John, I'm sorry, but I need to leave. For good. I need to go."

He shook his head. "Where did that come from? Are you serious?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

He paused. I could see it sinking in. "Sorry. You're sorry. Really. That's just lovely. Would you care to explain to me your train of thought surrounding this choice?"

"No."

He raised his eyebrows. "No?"

"I can't. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you already said that bit."

I looked at the floor because I couldn't take the look on his face. I walked past him towards the bedroom to gather my clothes and put them back in my case.

"Wait, Mary. Wait. Just answer me one question."

I turned back around. "Yes?"

"Did you… I mean, don't you.. am I the only one that …" he waived his hands as if searching for his phrasing. "Mary I know I've only known you for four days and that this sounds ridiculous but I would be lying if I didn't say that…"

I put my hand up. "Don't. Don't say it."

He walked towards me and pulled my hand down. "If I didn't say that I think you are the most exhausting, confusing, ridiculously frustrating woman I had ever met and there is no way I'm going to let you go." His face was inches from mine.

I swallowed hard. "John, I can't…"

He put two fingertips on my lips. "Please don't leave me alone again, Mary. I honestly don't know what I've done without you. I'm begging you, please… don't go. I need you."

I pulled his fingers away from my mouth. His face was honest. Everything about John was honest and real, so unlike me and my life. I put my hand on his heart. It was beating like mad. He put his hand over mine. "Mary, whatever I did, I'll fix it. Just don't leave."

"You didn't do anything. You've been wonderful. I don't deserve it."

"Probably not, no. But I'm just giving it away over here." He smiled his half smile, his eyes still searching me, trying to figure out what I was thinking.

I took his hand in mine. "Okay, I'll stay."

His whole face book into a huge grin and he pulled me into a giant hug. I embraced him in return, a lump forming in my throat. I felt trapped. I wanted to stay, of course, but if anything happened to this incredible man because of me I couldn't live with myself.

"You thought I was going to say 'I love you', didn't you?"

I pulled back from him. "Of course not, don't be stupid."

He put his arm around me and opened the bedroom door behind me. "Good, because that would just be ridiculous. I mean, I've only known you for four days. That would me absolutely bat shit crazy."

I laughed and pulled him into a kiss. He returned the kiss and pressed me up against a wall, his body against mine. Slowly, we lowered ourselves onto the floor – complete in the fact that we both knew we were each other's.

Later in the evening John was in the kitchen very elaborately making dinner, flipping things around in pans and catching them and so on. I was sitting on the couch reading a magazine when I noticed the two black leather gloves on the coffee table. I picked them up, slowly moving my hands over them and taking in the smell of leather and cigarettes. I stood up. "John, I'll be right back, okay? Just going to the loo." I walked into the bedroom and shut the door and then headed to the window in the far corner. I opened the rusty latches, struggling a bit until the whole thing came open in one big _wooosh_ and I was slapped in the face with the cold, sharp air. I leaned out. "Sherlock?" I felt like an idiot. "Sherlock, I don't know if you can hear me, but you seem to know everything else somehow and if you're out there somewhere I need you to know that I couldn't leave." I swallowed, the heaviness of what I could be facing was sinking in. "I can't leave him, Sherlock. I can't break his heart again. You've already broken it once." I paused, uncomfortable with the truth I of my next statement. "Now I need your help to keep it beating."


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

The next few days seemed normal, or at least I hoped they did to John. We took Gladdy for morning walks together and I would meet him for lunch at the clinic and we would stay up late into the night making fun of the celebrities on the news and talking about what we each hoped our futures would bring. We always spoke of our futures separately even though we both knew that we secretly imagined them melded together as one. I loved everything about this man – his laugh, his expressive face, the way he pretended to be irrationally annoyed with life most of the time. Oddly enough, one of my favorite things to do was watch him interact with Mrs. Hudson. He was always so caring and gentle and patient. They had one of the most beautiful mother-son relationships I had ever encountered. It made me realize something huge had been missing from my life; a family. One of the simplest, most basic and natural aspects of a human existence; something you couldn't buy or fix or manipulate yourself into. I had the people I was connected to by blood but as I continued to live with John I realized that they were only relatives and that a relative was sometimes completely different from a family member. From listening to him talk and watching how he would still polish the violin in the corner and check on the spare bedroom when he didn't think I was paying attention, I came to the understanding that Sherlock had been John's family and John, Sherlock's. Every time the thought crossed my mind that I had originally traveled to London to take him out of this world permanently I had a desperate urge to throw up, as if I could purge myself of my past. If only it was that easy. It was incredible to watch them continue to love and care for each other even though they were never together and John wasn't even aware that Sherlock was still alive. It was the most astoundingly beautiful and pure display of love that I had ever seen.

I would randomly notice signs that Sherlock had been in the apartment when we were out and began to realize with the carelessness being shown that he must have been leaving me evidence of his presence on purpose. I would notice the violin bow had been moved or a new suspicious jar would appear in the fridge. One afternoon I found something I could only assume was part of a large animal's digestive tract in the microwave and the leather gloves had disappeared. I knew John was noticing things too, because one evening he looked up from his paper and asked me if I thought it was a ridiculous thing to believe in ghosts.

I thought about it for a moment. "I wouldn't think so. I mean, I've never seen one… but it's not really fair not to believe in something just because you haven't seen it."

He laughed.

"What?" I sat up, pretending to be offended. "Do you think that was a stupid answer?"

He shook his head. "No, no.. not at all. I think it was brilliant."

"Don't lie to me John Watson."

He put his paper down. "I am absolutely not lying to you."

I leaned forward. "Then why were you laughing?

He smiled. "I laugh when I'm happy." He patted the couch next to him. "Come here, you."

I got up out of my chair and curled up next to him, my head on his chest. He kissed the top of my head. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"What's the matter with you?"

I sat up, confused. "What?"

"There must be something. I just keep waiting for it to surface."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well," He took my hand in his and kissed it. "I look at you and I see this beautiful, intelligent, vivacious woman and I realize that there is no way you could actually be this perfect."

I shook my head. "I am so far from perfect. You have no idea."

He brushed a piece of hair out of my face. "A few days ago we had that, I wouldn't really call it a fight… we had _whatever_ that was and I know you aren't telling me something. Now I don't want to pressure you into talking about your brother but I think you might be dealing with something much bigger than your brother's death, and if that is the case I deserve know."

I felt my stomach leap into my throat and my heart began to race. I had known for days that I could only avoid the inevitable for so long, but I feared for the consequences of the truth. I was afraid that I would hurt him more than could be put into words. I was afraid he would no longer want me.

He nudged me. "Come on, Mary. It's me. Just me." _Just me._ This man meant more to me than everything else in the world combined.

I took a deep breath, my words chosen carefully. "On May 4th … on the roof of Saint Bartholomew's Hospital..." I took a sharp intake of breath. I saw John's face change, his eyes narrowed.

His voice was firm. "Mary, what?"

"John, when Sherlock died…" I felt a lump forming in my throat. "That's when my brother died, too."

At that moment, time seemed to stand still. I saw a look of complete disbelief come over him as he stood up and covered his mouth. He stood up and walked toward the window and turned around, breathing heavily. "You mean, what you're saying is…" he whispered and turned back towards me shaking his head. "…but Sherlock never mentioned that he had…"

"Mary! Mary, Dear…" Mrs. Hudson opened the door. "I'm so sorry to interrupt your evening but there's a very urgent man here who said you ordered a pizza?"

John put his hand over his eyes and turned back towards the wall.

"I did interrupt something… Oh, Dear…I'm so sorry." She had a dishcloth in her hand and she wrung it tightly.

"We were having a discussion. I didn't order anything, Mrs. Hudson." My voice sounded small.

"Yes, well this man is very insistent that you did and they won't let me sign for it. Something about needing to see your card."

"Mrs. Hudson, please…"

"He won't leave. Please just tell him... He's quite disagreeable...He won't listen to me…"

"Mrs. Hudson…"

"Just go. I'll be here." John spoke from the window.

I got up and grabbed my purse, rushing past Mrs. Hudson to the stairs. I wanted to get this out of the way as quickly as possible. I needed to be with John right now. I knew we had a long night ahead of us, my stomach still filled with dread that felt like a brick as I thought about the possible outcomes. About halfway down the stairs I got a text.

"What now?" I grabbed my phone, incredibly frustrated. I read the text and gasped, stopping dead in my tracks.

Run.

SH

I looked out the front door window from where I was standing and saw the supposed pizza delivery worker staring at me with an intensity that made my blood run cold. He was a large man of about 40. We kept eye contact for what seemed like an eternity and then I saw his hand slowly move to the front inside pocket of his jacket. "Oh, no you don't." I grabbed my gun and threw my bag and the ground and turned and ran to the door on the left that went to Mrs. Hudson's apartment. I saw the man turn and run in the same direction around the building. I knew I had to get him away from John, away from Mrs. Hudson. I ran into her back bedroom and forced open the window, kicking through the screen. As my feet hit the pavement I took off running towards a large intersection about a block in front of me. As I reached it I stopped, breathing heavily and turning my head frantically in both directions not knowing the London streets well enough to decipher the best way to go. I turned around and saw the man rounding a corner and running quickly in my direction. Another text. I looked down at my phone that hadn't left my left hand.

Turn right.

SH

I turned right and continued running. The entire crowd seemed to be moving in the opposite direction and I found myself weaving through families and tourists and businessmen as I kept my eyes scanning the buildings for fire escapes or some sort of hiding place. I reached another intersection.

Left.

SH

I turned left and as I ran across the road I heard breaks screech and a horn go off as I dodged around the front a small car. I turned my head and saw my pursuer gaining on me, pushing people out of his way as he flew through the crowd. As I turned my head back around I saw another man running at me from the front. I stopped and turned down an alley to my left. It was a dead end. I reached the back wall and turned to the street opening, bracing myself and aiming my gun.

The men both ran into the alleyway almost simultaneously. I shot at the one on the right and he cried out, collapsing and grasping his shoulder. I heard screams from the pedestrians on the street as I shot at the second man and missed. He reached me and grabbed my arms, twisting them until I yelled in pain and dropped my gun. I swooped my leg around and caught him in the back of the kneecap, bringing us both down the ground. I saw my gun lying in about three feet to my left and I crawled on my elbows and knees towards it, mud splashing in my eyes. Before I could reach it he grabbed a hold of one of my ankles, pulling me towards him. I turned on my side and kicked him with the other leg in the face with my heel as hard as I could. He cried out and I kicked him again, this time in the eye and blood splattered on my shoe and lower leg. He yelled and rolled over holding his face and I slid away from him onto my knees and reached for my gun.

"Don't move."

I looked up. The man from earlier was standing near the street entrance, holding his wounded shoulder and pointing his gun at me. "Stand up."

I put my hands over my head and slowly got onto my feet. The man started to walk towards me, the sound of his footprints masked by the cries of his colleague and faint police sirens in the distance. As he made his way towards me I could see him scanning my body up and down. He stopped only inches from my face, my back up against the wall. "Well, aren't you pretty." He put his hand on my chest and starting moving it up my neck. I slapped him in the face. "Oh, ho! And feisty, too!." He put his gun against my left ear. "That's how I like my women." He put his mouth up against my other ear. "Beautiful and feisty and rich as hell."

Out of nowhere my assaulter suddenly flew into the wall next to me. I jumped out of the way as a man grabbed his head and slammed it into the wall again, catching the gun as it fell to the ground.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock grabbed my arm and took off running towards the road. We ran down the sidewalk and rounded the closest corner. He raised his arm. "Taxi!" A black cab slowed down and he pushed me into the car, climbing in behind me.

"Where to?"

"22 Northumberland St." The driver didn't move. He was staring at the blood and mud smeared across my face. Sherlock hit the seat in front of him. "Go! Now!" The cabbie turned to the front and the car moved forward with a jolt.

We sat surrounded by the sounds of our heavy breathing. I wiped my hand across my forehead and winced as I felt a huge cut on the side of my face. I turned to Sherlock. He was staring straight ahead, his face void of emotion. "Why didn't you let me die?"

He kept his gaze ahead. "Why didn't you shoot me in your living room?"

I turned to look out my window. We stayed silent for the rest of the drive, and though our bodies were sitting in the cab our minds were currently in the same place with the same man at 221B Baker Street.


	6. Chapter 6

*First of all, I'd like to say a quick "thank you" for all the support I'm getting and apologize for how long it took me to get out this next chapter! I've had lots of people ask me to hurry myself up, and I'm very sorry! :-) I'm an actress and it's been incredibly busy for me with the current show I'm involved in. I promise I will try and cut down the time between chapters. Again, thank you so much for supporting me in my hobby... and enjoy!*

**CHAPTER SIX**

The silence on the cab ride was deafening. Though he didn't move or speak I had never been more aware of another person's presence than I was now of Sherlock's – his very being radiating so much while doing so little. I could feel him, heavy in the car next to me; his heart slow and steady, his mind racing. The weight of his company was unlike anything I had ever felt. Even though we were looking out our respective windows I knew we both felt the strange comradery that had been born in the fact that the only thing either of us could really see at the moment was John.

The cab stopped in front of a little Italian Restaurant. I looked over at Sherlock who had remained motionless. "What are we doing here?" My head was throbbing and wouldn't stop bleeding.

"Go inside. You'll be safe here for the moment. Ask for the owner and tell him you knew Sherlock and that you need protection." He kept his eyes straight ahead.

"Aren't you coming in?"

"Of course not."

"Why?"

He turned to me. "Because I'm dead."

"Oh, right." I nodded and wiped more blood from the side of my face, getting out of the car. "Wait…" I turned and stuck my head back in the door. "What about John and Mrs. Hudson?"

"Go inside."

"But…"

He leaned over and shut the door and the car drove off, leaving me standing and feeling very alone on the cold, dead street. As I watched him drive away a middle-aged man came out of the restaurant and stood next to me.

"There now, Lovely…if he left you like that, he's not worth it."

I glanced at the man and then turned to walk towards the restaurant. Everything ached deep into my bones and I was literally sick with worry about John. What if there had been more of them? At every scenario that crept its way into my mind I became more and more nauseated. I reached the side of the building, breathing hard and slid down the wall until I was crouched with my head on my knees. I heard footsteps coming toward me.

"Miss, are you okay? You don't look good."

"I'm fine, thank you." I wiped more blood off the side of my face.

"I think you should let me take you to the hospital. Did he hit you?" He was standing right above me.

"I really am fine." I slowly stood up and brushed myself off as if it made a difference.

"I think you should let me help you." He took a step forward.

"I'm meeting a friend at this restaurant, I'm fine." I turned to walk towards the door.

"I think you'll find he's been taken care of." I stopped short as I reached the window. Inside the restaurant was completely deserted except for a man lying down the center of the floor on his stomach, his eyes open and a stream of blood trickling from the gaping hole in his head.

I stared into the dead owner's eyes, my body becoming numb. "Well, there you go. That didn't take long, did it?"

"Get in the car, Miss Moriarty."

I didn't move. I felt more blood from the cut on my forehead dripping slowly down over my left cheek and then tickling its way lightly down my neck. I heard the familiar cocking sound of a gun behind me.

"I said, _get in the car._"

"No, thank you."

I heard him moving toward me. "Well, then… we'll just have to do things the fun way…"

_Dark. It was so dark. Why was it so dark? And my mouth… my mouth was so dry… I couldn't move….my head ached….my head…. And it was so dark…._

"As soon as she wakes up we'll send the text. Shouldn't be long now, it's been almost an hour. How hard did you hit her?"

_If I open my eyes that will take care of the dark._

"Hard enough. She'll wake up soon."

_If I open my eyes…._"Ahh!" I took a shark intake of breath as the light hit my pupils like a brick.

"Oh, perfect! Look at that! Right on time. Good girl."

I blinked furiously. As the sea of colors around me started to morph into shapes I could make out five different men standing around me, one of them being the man I had shot in the shoulder earlier. We were on the roof of a tall building. I tried to get up, but couldn't and soon realized I was tied to a chair. My eyelids were extraordinarily heavy and I had a deep set pain starting in the back of my head that crept all the way down into my lower back.

A tall, thin man of about 35 took my phone out of his pocket and tossed it at one of the other men. "There you are, Zachary. Text him the address." He then turned towards me. He was wearing a suit with converse shoes and moved playfully across the ground as he walked towards me. He reached my chair and knelt down so his face was on my level.

"Mary, Mary. Miss Mary Moriarty." He smiled a brilliant smile that was deceptively warm and childlike. "Would you like something to drink, Gorgeous?"

My voice came out painfully dry. "Who are you texting with my phone?"

He stood up, patting my knee. "I suppose that's a no, our young girl here is all business." He grabbed another chair off from the side somewhere and spun it so it was directly in front of me. "Pity for you, as I have excellent taste in beverages if I do say so myself." He sat down. "Well, pity for us both I guess as I refuse to drink alone. You let me know if you change your mind."

"Are you Samael Harris?"

Another huge grin broke out across his face. "Very, very good!" He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "You know I expected you to be smart with the whole family history and all but that was fast. I'm impressed. You sure you don't want that drink?"

"He's on his way, Samael." One of the other men came over and handed Samael my phone.

"Good, good – keep watch and tell me when he shows up." Samael took his hands out from behind his head and crossed his arms, still grinning." "So, Mary… I'm assuming you'd like to know exactly what is going on. That's natural… very natural, and I'm happy to oblige. You seem like a get-straight-to-the-point kind of a girl and I can respect that, so that's exactly what I'm going to do." He leaned forward. "You have something I want very, very badly."

"The money." My voice was weak but firm.

"Look at that! There she goes again! Quick as a whip! So… whatdya say, Mary? How about you make my day oh so very happy?"

"I don't know where it is." This was true. I had been trying to find out my brother's financial information ever since his death with no success. The possibilities of its location were endless.

Samael leaned back in his chair. "Ohh, owch. Now that was a silly answer, right there. Also, unfortunately, the wrong one. Broke your streak I'm afraid. Would you like to use one of your lifelines and try again?"

"I'm telling you the truth. I don't know."

"I was afraid that might be your answer, which is why I texted your BF, I thought he would be able to set it straight, man to man… you know how that goes."

My head was throbbing so hard I could hear it. "My what?"

"Isn't that what all the kids say?" He threw his hands up in the air. "Those young ones and their lingo, I can't ever keep up. I'm so unhip. I'm so sorry, let me clarify." He put his face up right in mine. "Your BF, Mary. Your _boyfriend_. Your distinguished, older Doctor you've been shacking up with."

"You leave John out of this. He has nothing to do with this."

"Poor little Mary… you seem so sincere. Perhaps you should have been an actress."

"I'm telling the truth, Samael. Please… listen to me…"

He put his hand over my mouth. "There, now, don't get too excited. You've had a head injury, you know. That was Zachary, by the way. Very unprofessional. I'm so sorry." He took his hand off my mouth. "It doesn't matter, anyway, you can just sit back and relax. Johnnyboy will be here shortly to save the day."

"What do you mean?" Every word I said felt like a knife cutting deeper into the spinal cord at the base of my neck.

He leaned back in his chair again, twiddling my phone in his hands. "The text, of course. Your special friend is on his way over. I hope he brings his cape. Does he have a sidekick? I love it when they have a sidekick."

"Please… don't…"

"Oh, no, silly me…he doesn't have a sidekick, does he? He is the sidekick! Of course! A sort of widowed sidekick to the great Sherlock Holmes. You remember Sherlock Holmes, don't you? The man who murdered your great and powerful brother?"

"My brother wasn't murdered. He took his own life."

"Of course he did! My mistake. How selfish of him to leave his poor, pretty little sister to fend for herself with big meanies like me out there in the world. But I digress." He glanced at my phone screen. "It's been about five minutes, we should probably get you into position."

My eyes narrowed. "Position?"

"Yes! Yes, this is the best bit in my opinion!" He stood up and moved his chair out of his way as he began to untie me. "I must warn you, it's a bit theatrical, but then again you love the theatre judging from your earlier performance."

"What are you talking about?"

"A reenactment, my dear Mary! You see, I figured our pal Doctor Watson would need a little motivation in order to dispense such valuable information. I knew you, being a Moriarty, would have the irritating stubbornness of the rest of them and take that valuable tidbit with you to the grave. Handsome Johnny, on the other hand, would not be able take the death of another one so dear to his pathetic little heart." Both of my hands were free and he took them in his own, kissing the top of them like a gentleman. "Oh, Mary. Mary Mary Mary…. We're going to rip his little heartstrings right out… there's no way he'll be able to keep your secret to himself. He'll just have to save his pretty little damsel in distress! You do know where you are, don't you?"

I glanced around. "We're on a roof."

He stood up, spinning around with his arms open wide around him. "Ah, not just any roof! The roof of legends! The only roof in the world!" He stopped spinning, his smile wider than before. "Welcome, Mary Moriarty, to the roof of St. Bartholomew Hospital."

My heart caught in my chest. I felt a huge lump form in my throat and I choked it back painfully, refusing to let him see the effect our current location had on me. "What are you going to do with me?"

He walked slowly towards me. "Well, you're our bait, of course. Oh, yes, Miss Mary. I'm going to dangle you over the edge like a worm on a hook."

One of the men came up behind me and pulled me towards the edge of the roof. My head was still spinning from waking up and I teetered dangerously as I clung to the man for balance.

Samael came up next to me. "There, now, you'll be alright, you can let go. We won't let you fall. Remember, Mary, you're just bait. We're just using you as our little treat. You can trust me, really." He put his hand over his heart.

I let go of the man behind me and stood as straight and still as I could, my depth perception going in and out as I tried to make out the people down below.

Samael handed me a piece of paper. "Now, I do have a little dialogue I've written for you. Don't ask how I got my hands on the original phone conversation, it was quite an ordeal, I can assure you. When I tell you to, I'm going to hand you the phone and you read those lines. That'll be your cue, as the thespians say."

I took the sheet from his hand, scanning the words. I didn't recognize them. They were sad and vague. I looked back at Samael. "What if I refuse?"

He scrunched up his face. "Ohhh, yeah… I wouldn't do that, Pumpkin. You see, either way I'll get the information out of Loverboy but it would be awfully sad if he had to watch the second love of his life jump off the same roof as his first. You just don't get those images out of your head, you know?"

I felt the barrel of gun shoved forcefully into my back. I gasped as the man behind me grabbed onto my arm, steadying me. As I tried to keep my balance I looked down onto the street below and my heart sank as I saw a familiar jacket come running quickly around a corner to the right.

John.

"Oh, look-ee-lou, There he is! Your knight in shining armor!" Samael's huge grin had returned, his eyes hungrily locked on John below. "Aaannnd here we go in 3….2…." My phone rang from his hand and he answered, lifting it up to his ear. "Hello, Doctor Watson! It's a pleasure, really. Me? Well, I suppose that's only fair since I know yours. My name is Samael Harris. Who am I? Well, Doctor, that's really not important. I know your time is valuable so I'll just get straight to the point… you have something I want, something I want very badly. I believe you know my friend Mary? Yes! The hot little Brunet number with those killer legs that go on for miles. No, no no… she's just fine, she's just perfect, don't you worry." He reached over and patted the top of my head. "I would, however, love to know her financial status, if you get what I'm saying." There was a long pause. I heard John's voice come angrily through the speaker, unable to decipher what he was saying. "You see, I would be happy to, err, 'give her to you' as you so eloquently put it but here's the thing. I really need the information, Doctor. I'm just itching for that money and I know you know exactly what I'm talking about. I thought, though, that you might need a little motivation. Perfectly understandable. Mary has prepared a little monologue for you. Now if you don't mind moving back about ten feet… yes, very good… now to the left… yes… oh, nope, a little too far… ah ha! Yes! Perfect! Don't move. Now, look up."

He handed me the phone and nodded at me with a huge smile. I looked down at John on the street as he slowly moved his gaze up. As we locked eyes I could see the color drain from his face as he stumbled backward. "Mary. MARY! Oh, God… no… Mary, Don't jump! Do you hear me!" His voice was shaking desperately. "Mary, Don't! Please! No….!"

Samael nudged me and I dropped the phone to my side. "Call this a director's note…I wouldn't stray from the written dialogue if I were you." He whispered, his face covered in artificial concern. "Poor, John."

I held the paper up in front of me, my hand trembling furiously.

"Mary!" John yelled from below. "Don't!"

I felt a hot tear scream down my face. I put the phone back up to my ear and opened my mouth to speak.

"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Can you do this for me?" my voice shook more than my hands.

"Mary, what?! What are you saying? Mary...!" John started running towards the hospital.

"This phone call. It's my note."

I saw John stop dead in his tracks, his hand went up to his mouth. I heard his breathing begin to pickup and his voice came out in a pained, trembling whisper. "_What did you say_?"

"That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?"


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

John's answer came to me over the phone, his voice smaller and more vulnerable than I'd ever heard it before. "Mary…I can't….." I saw him bow his head and put his hands over his eyes, the pain in his tone piercing me in the gut like a knife. "Not again, please…"

I put the phone down and turned to Samael. "What am I saying?" I demanded. "What are these words?"

Samael smiled. "I told you, Sweatpea. This is a reenactment."

"Yes. But of what?"

"Oh, come now. I know you're clever! A regular Ravenclaw if I ever met one. _Think_, Mary!" He cupped the back of my head in his hand and turned it towards him so our faces were inches from one another. As he spit out his next words the playful light completely left his eyes and his demeanor instantly became menacing and aggressive. "Use the science of deduction."

_Sherlock._

I gasped as the realization hit me and put the phone back up to my ear. "John! John, I'm so sorry… I didn't know…" I cried out in surprise and dropped the phone as Samael turned his cupped hand into a fistful of my hair.

"I don't think so, Mary." He jerked me back around by my hair so I was facing him once again, gritting his teeth. "That's not in the script! Now what is a director to do with a wayward actor?" I winced as he yanked my hair back and forth to put emphasis on different words. "Where is Uta Hagen when you need her?"

I spit in his face and he stopped talking. With his free hand he took out an expensive, embroidered handkerchief and delicately dabbed the saliva off his face. "Now, Mary, that was completely unprofessional. Really, I'm embarrassed for you. I'm afraid, my dear….you're fired." In one swift movement he shoved me off the edge of the roof by my head and I grabbed desperately on to his arm, my legs dangling dangerously in mid air. "Mary!" I heard John yell from below. Samael glanced only with his eyes over the edge and grinned. "Oh, goodie! He's coming up. Go give him an appropriate welcome, boys." As the men surrounding us began to move towards the door I saw a dark shadow appear out of a far corner.

"Don't move."

The men stopped and Samael's wicked grin faltered for a moment as he slowly moved his gaze. He turned and gradually brought me back to the ledge, letting go of the hair on my burning scalp. He let out a laugh and threw his arms into the air. "Well, golly gee. It's Sherlock Holmes!" He motioned for his men to stand back and took a few casual steps in Sherlock's direction, crossing his arms. "To what do I owe the honor? I didn't know wealth tickled your pickle, Mr. Holmes." Sherlock didn't move. He had a gun pointed directly at Samael's head, his expression steady and calm.

Samael took another step. "Don't tell me it's the girl! I mean, what possible interest could you have in the well-being of a Moriarty?" My family name sounded like a curse in his mouth. Sherlock remained motionless as Samael took a final step, now a mere few feet from the barrel of the gun. Samael leaned forward. "So, do tell, Mr. Holmes. How may I be service?"

In one swift motion Sherlock turned his arm and shot both men to the left. The roof turned to chaos as gun shots rang out and he head butted Samael, knocking him to the ground. I took the opportunity to run towards the roof door. One of Samael's men came at me from the right and I swung the chair I had previously been tied to at his legs, buying myself enough time to run through the door and flatten myself against the inside wall. I listened intently, unable to see what was going on. I heard more gunshots and a man cry out. There was a moment of silence, followed by a slow clap.

"Very good, Sherlock. I'm impressed." I could hear something that sounded like a helicopter approaching in the distance. "As you can see, the rest of my party is arriving. Before they get here and I shame you into begging for mercy in front of all of my lovely guests would you care to explain to me why Jim's sister is of so much worth to you?" I strained my neck as if that would help me hear through the large cement door.

Sherlock's voice came out clear and calm and cold. "You do what you want with the girl. Torture her, beat her, that's your prerogative. I will tell you that she does not know the whereabouts of the money and no amount of physical harm will make her come to a realization that is completely impossible." His voice became soft and deadly. "But I swear to you that if you touch a hair on John Watson's head I will make your life a living hell and you will beg me, and I mean _beg _me with every ounce of strength you can bear to muster to please, oh pretty please, just let you die."

The intensity of his threat sent a shiver up my spine. The engine of the helicopter had begun to overpower the sound of their voices and as I wiped blood out of my eyes from my earlier head wound Sherlock burst through the door and shoved me down the stairs. I began running without a true destination, just down…down….feverishly wiping the continuous stream of blood as it dripped from my forehead. I rounded what seemed like the hundredth corner and ran head on into someone who immediately covered my mouth, his face directly in mine. "Shh! Shh! You're okay, now. Shh!"

I ripped his hand away from my face. "John!" I threw my arms around him and proceeded to immediately push him away and turn behind me. "Sherlock!"

We were alone in the stairwell. John pulled me back around, using his sleeve to wipe more blood out of my eyes. "I know, I know you didn't know! It's alright, come on, we've got to move… they're everywhere…" He pulled on my arm, dragging me down more seemingly eternal flights of white cement stairs until we were in the basement of the hospital. I blinked furiously, trying to force my eyes to adjust to our new surroundings. It was pitch black and the only sound was our frantic breathing and a disconnected dripping sound somewhere off in the distance. We moved slowly down the first hallway, our hands leading us down the cold cement wall. John kept himself in front of me, my body pressed against his. I could feel his deep breaths and sweaty body heat through his jacket. We stopped abruptly when we heard sirens appear from up above, followed by screams and gunshots. "Mary." John breathed, sticking his hand in his front jacket pocket for his gun. "Who the hell are these people?"

I began to wish for my own faithful weapon, wondering what its fate had been. "They're connected to my brother."

"How do they possibly know Sherlock?"

"John, no… it's not what you think… You misunderstood earlier. I'm not…" my voice caught in my throat. Now was not the time. "You need to get out of…"

"Shhh!." He put his hand back over my mouth, his face next to mine. I could see his eyes widen, searching around us systematically. I could tell the military man was coming out and at that moment I was incredibly grateful that one of us wasn't completely useless in hand to hand combat. I moved his hand away, straining my ears. I heard nothing.

I wiped more blood out of my eyes. "John, what?"

"SHHH!" He put his hand back over my mouth then slowly took it away, motioning for me to stay put. He put both hands on his gun and began to cautiously move forward, disappearing completely in our dark surroundings. I flattened myself against the freezing wall and closed my eyes, losing myself in the sound of my own heart beating inside my throbbing head. I was becoming dizzier and more light headed as I continued to bleed everywhere. In the midst of the blood pounding in my ears I heard what sounded like a footstep.

I hesitantly lifted my head up. "John?" I whispered hopefully.

I gasped as a huge gloved hand came out of nowhere and covered my nose and mouth and a large male body completely flattened itself against mine, trapping me between it and the wall.

"Don't speak." A deep familiar deep voice breathed into my ear accompanied by the dirty sweet smell of sweat mixed with cigarettes.

I ripped his hand away from my mouth. "Did he learn that from you? Because really a correctly placed 'be quiet' usually does the trick…"

Sherlock backed his angular body off of mine a few inches and lowered his hand, his voice a breathy growl in my right ear. "They're distracted by the police. There is a fire escape window down at the end of this hallway and to the left. I need you to get John through the window and around the block to the bank and into the black car around back. You will both be safe with my brother Mycroft for the time being."

"But how..?"

"Mycroft has always known I was alive."

I nodded my head. I felt a sharp emotional pain in my chest. "Sherlock, why won't you talk to him?"

He leaned on his arm against the wall above my head, taking in a deep breath. "You're wasting time. Go." He turned to leave, his sharp frame immediately disappearing into the blackness.

I stepped away from the wall. "Sherlock! It's killing him! If you could only see…" I heard his footsteps pause for a brief moment. "If he could just _know_ that you're alive." The footsteps picked back up again. "Sherlock!" I moved forward, listening intently. The footsteps had vanished. I was alone in the dark. My vision was beginning to get spotty. I closed my eyes, leaned my head back against the wall and swallowed, grimacing as the movement caused a sharp pain to reverberate through my skull. I knew that losing consciousness could literally be a death sentence. As I started to feel drowsy I tried to keep myself awake by concentrating on every possible sensation; my chest rising and falling, the tiny crevices in the cold brick wall behind me, the blood dripping down over my closed eyelids, the throbbing gash on the side of my head. As I struggled to stay alert I began to hear soft and deliberate footsteps coming towards me from the direction that John had left in. _Thank God._

"John?" I carefully brought my head up, wiping the blood off my eyes. "John, there's a fire escape around the corner." I stayed still, listening. The footsteps had paused. I felt a prickly sensation of anxiety shoot through my body. I took a step forward. "John?"

"Ohh Mary?" I stopped, pure terror gripping me as I heard Samael's disembodied voice come at me from the dark void. I turned and started to run back towards door of the stairwell. "Oh, Mary… don't leave me! Come now, you're breaking my heart, Gorgeous…" I frantically felt for a door, an opening, anything. I could hear in his voice that he was gaining on me. "Mary, Mary… where you going to?" He began singing as I found a corner and tripped over something as I turned. I wiped more blood out of my eyes as if it made a difference, beginning to feel nauseous. "Where you go… I will follow…." He was getting so close. I frantically tried to push myself forward but I could feel my head slowly turning into a brick on top of my shoulders. I began to stumble and caught myself with my hand on the wall and began to violently throw up. "Awww, somebody doesn't feel good…" I gasped for breathe and leaned my head on the wall, sliding down onto my knees and mentally surrendering. _Maybe if he has me John will get away. _I heard him come up behind me. He grabbed me by my hair again and shoved a wet piece of fabric over my face. "Here, let me help…"

I woke up in another chair with my head leaning against the cold basement wall. My hands were tied together and my lips were cracked and dry. I took a slow intake of breathe and cautiously opened my eyes into slits. The world was spinning and I could hardly make out the different shapes in our current room that was lit by a crude light bulb hanging in the corner.

"I have people searching your home, John. We'll find the information. I guarantee it."

"Well that's good, then. Let me know what you find, because I still don't know what the hell you're talking about."

I blinked furiously and though it kept spinning, the room began to come into focus. "John!" I yelled, right as Samael punched him in the left side of his head. Samael and the two men standing next to him simultaneously spun around to face me.

Samael's face broke into a huge grin and he opened his arms as though he was offering me a hug. "Mary, welcome back, Love!"

"Mary, are you alright?" Though John had cuts across his face and was covered in sweat, his voice was strong and compassionate. My heart broke. _What had I done_?

I nodded, determined to appear tough and unaffected. "Oh, yeah. I'm doing fantastic. You?"

He closed his eyes and leaned back his head, obviously exhausted. "Fantastic."

Samael put his hand over his heart. "Touching, really. Nothing more beautiful than true love." He walked towards me and put his hand on my shoulder and knelt down so he was directly in front of my face.

John lifted his head up. "Leave her alone."

Samael turned back to him and shrugged. "Or what? Seriously…you're handcuffed to a pole. Control yourself, Wonderboy." He turned back to me with the same ridiculous grin plastered across his face. "Now, Mary…. We're going to play a little game, okay?" I struggled to keep my vision focused. It felt like there was a knife resting in my left temple. "Try to stay awake… you wouldn't want to lose, would you?" My head drifted forward and I took a sharp intake of breathe, snapping back upright. "This game is called 'Question and Answer.' Now, it's really quite simple." He motioned to himself. "I ask you a question and you…" He patted me on the chest with his fingertips. "…give me your very best answer. Alright?" He took my face in his hands.

I glanced at John. He was breathing heavily and staring intently at me, obvious concern written all over his face. I shifted my attention back to Samael. "Shoot."

Samael laughed and rested his hand on my knee. "Look at that spunk! It just won't die, will it? Alrighty, then. I'll start." He cleared his throat and starting speaking in a mock television announcer voice. "Miss Mary, where is your brother's fortune?" He passed me an invisible microphone.

I kept my eye contact. "I have absolutely no idea."

He lifted his arm up and hit me in the side of the mouth with his fist. A white light of pain shot through my mouth to the rest of my head and I immediately felt another huge bought of nausea. "Fuck!" I coughed and spit out a mouthful of blood. "Will you stop hitting me in the head?!" I leaned forward, choking for air. "Oh, God…"

"Sure, oh yeah. Of course. Will you stop not answering my questions? Mmmm?" he grabbed my chin in his hand and thrust my head upward so we were nose to nose. "_Where is your brother's money?!"_

"I don't know!"

He lifted his hand up and this time punched me hard in head where my original injury was. I audibly gasped as an indescribable pain immediately blanketed my entire body and everything in the room went completely out of focus. A loud ringing took over all of my senses. I vaguely heard John yell something and Samael turned towards him and stood up to respond.

"What was that, Doctor Watson? Why would Mycroft Holmes have anything to do with this?" Again I barely heard John respond. I could tell that my body was not going to be able to hold on to consciousness much longer.

Suddenly, Samael bent over and burst into uproarious laughter, clapping his hands. "Oh. My. Word!" He stood up, his hand against the side of his face in genuine shock. "You think she's Sherlock's sister?" He turned to me. "He has no idea who you are, does he?" I leaned my head against the wall, not possessing the physical or emotional strength to respond. He walked toward me and forced me to stand, holding me upright. "Come, now. Why don't you tell him? I think it's only fair, don't you?" He shoved me towards John and I fell on my knees in front of him, my head bowed forward. Samael kicked me in the back. "TELL HIM!" I felt hot tears begin to stream down my face. Samael grabbed me by my hair once again and pulled me up so I was at eye level with John. He put his mouth right next to my ear. "I know you aren't feeling particularly spiffy, so why don't you just start with your last name?"

I made eye contact with John. His eyes were full of confusion. Samael twisted my hair and I winced in pain. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I looked into John's eyes. I swallowed and mustered up my last bit of strength. This was it. My voice came out in a raspy whisper.

"Moriarty."

Johns eyes widened in complete and utter shock. "What? Mary… I…." He searched my face. "Is this true?"

Samael's voice came from behind my head. "Of course it is, Doctor. And unfortunately for you, now that I know the two of you are honestly nothing more than sex buddies I'm afraid you've been rendered completely unnecessary."

The next few moments seemed to take hours. Samael threw me backwards on to the ground and as I began to fall I heard the gunshot. I saw John's face go white. I saw him cough and I saw the drops of blood appear on his lips. I saw his head fall on to the pole he was handcuffed to and I saw him fall to the ground as a deep voice shouted his name in the distance. I heard the second round of gunshots ring out as Samael and his two accomplices fell to the ground. And the last thing I saw before I blacked out as my head bounced off the concrete floor was the great and unmovable Sherlock Holmes collapse onto his knees and bury his head in John's bloodied chest.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

The cold wind whipped the raw skin on my face. I stood motionless and numb in the cold, my eyes reading the engraved tombstone for what must have been at least the thousandth time. I had no reason to be here, or, on the contrary, anywhere else. Despite recent events I surprisingly felt nothing except for the cold but even that seemed to be happening at a distance. My emotional trough had run dry. It was as though the entire world was happening somewhere far away but I was trapped alone inside a shell of myself. I had had the last several days in the hospital to mourn, to cry, to be angry with myself, ashamed of what I'd done and who I was. To ache for John with a pain so much stronger than anything physical I was currently suffering, the image of his face as he coughed up blood and fell to the ground permanently etched into my brain. I had refused to speak or eat for the last four days, ignoring the nurses and doctors as they tried in vain to get me to do either. Yesterday I had snuck out in the middle of the night with nothing but my hospital gown and someone's coat that I snatched off of the coat rack by the front door. I had then proceeded to come here, and here I remained. I was alone again. I refocused my eyes on the carved name once more and mouthed it to myself.

_"Sherlock Holmes."_

There had been a moment in the hospital where I had tried to rationalize this whole ordeal as his fault; he had been the reason I had come to London and met John. Of course I knew logically that it wasn't and soon placed the blame back in its correct place where it weighed heavily on my shoulders. I took a deep intake of breathe and allowed myself to feel the fresh air in my lungs and savored the fact that it didn't smell of sick and peroxide. I had always loved the winter despite the bitter cold. The air was always so crisp and clean.

Out of nowhere I heard something run up behind me. I turned around to find Gladdy, wiggling and practically bursting with joy at my feet. My heart leapt in my chest and I immediately bent down and scooped her up, rubbing my face in her soft fur. I found myself smiling as I realized that she smelled awful and was in large need of a good bath, certain that we had that in common. I began to walk slowly in the direction that she had come from.

"Hello?" The snow had melted through my hospital slippers and it felt like I was walking on rocks that were completely disconnected from my legs. I held her tight as she gleefully tried to lick my face. "How did you get here, Gladdy?" I closed my heavy eyes and breathed her in, suddenly feeling the heavy blanket of exhaustion and devastation resurfacing.

"You do realize that I'm still not actually dead."

I opened my eyes and saw a familiar dark coated figure standing next to a tree about twenty feet in the distance. I made my way forward, stopping directly in front of him.

"Are you here to kill me?"

He remained motionless, his voice soft. "What good would come of that?"

"Since when are you concerned about an outcome being good?"

"He's awake, Mary."

I felt a clenching in my chest. My voice came out in a whisper. "Since when?"

"About an hour ago."

"How do you know that?"

"I was there when it happened. I barely got out of the room in time. He almost saw me."

I swallowed hard. "Is he going to be alright?"

"I don't know. I'm going to have to rely on Mycroft for that information at this point."

Sherlock studied me up and down, reading me. "Do you still have staples in your head?"

I nodded.

"And how do you plan on getting them out?"

"I'm not sure. Should be a fun experiment."

We stood in silence for a few moments that was broken by a deep intake of breath. He uncrossed his arms. "Mary, I think he would like to see you."

I blinked, completely taken aback. "Why the bloody hell would you think that?"

"Because, like the rest of us, I'm sure he's feeling quite lonely. And John is a good man, Mary. He is amazing, he is fantastic, he is my _friend._" He swallowed hard and a glassy sheen came over his eyes. "He is the only human being that I have ever encountered that cared to know me as a person, not just a mind, and the only person I have ever allowed to do so. And now…" he stopped, his voice catching in his throat. "…now he is hurting in more ways than one and I can do _nothing. _Because I'm dead, Mary. Aren't I?" He made an exasperated gesture with his arms and tears began to make their way down his jagged face. "But _you_." He shook his head. "Oh, how he _loves_ you, Mary. And right now he is _completely alone_." His voice was desperate and pleading. I stood in utter shock, not knowing how to respond or take in this raw display of emotion coming from the man in front of me; the man I had known as hard and unbreakable; the man incapable of love or friendship.

He leaned into me, his face was inches from my own. I could smell the salt in his tears. "Mary." He swallowed hard. "I have asked you this once before, but I need to know. I need to know with absolute certainty." His eyes were full of such an intensity that I felt as though they could read my very soul. "Do you love him?"

I could feel a familiar painful lump welling up inside my throat. "More than anything, Sherlock."

He nodded. "Then go to him. He needs you."

I shook my head. "But even if he did have any interest in seeing me, how will I get in to the hospital? They know me. I just ran off. I can't answer their questions, Sherlock. What would I possibly say?"

Sherlock's face softened and he stood upright again, turning away for a moment to wipe his eyes with his gloved hand. "Let me give you a bit advice." He turned back around. "The human race is full of thick, impressionable idiots, Mary. Go back to Baker street and put some of that ridiculous brown eye shadow on that is much too dark for your fair skin tone. Give them a different name at the front desk and that vacant lot will have absolutely no idea who you are."

We stood in silence for a bit. I wondered how many people had had the privilege of sharing a moment like this with Sherlock Holmes; to see the human side of the robotic persona portrayed by the famous stories. I felt a familiar pain etching its way back into my chest. "Sherlock, I don't deserve him."

He smiled genuinely, warmly. "We never do, do we." He turned to leave. "Take care of him, Mary."

"I don't know if I can do it alone."

He stopped and looked back at me. "And you will never have to. That is a promise."

Later that evening I found myself at the hospital, standing outside John's door. I was clean and made-up (though I did find myself using more neutral tones instead of browns, cursing Sherlock for ruining them for me) with my hair under a hat to hide my gash. I had tried to think of what I was going to say to him; I'd tried writing it out, rehearsing it in the mirror, all the tricks I could think of and nothing helped. I still had no idea what was going to come out of my mouth. A nurse walked by and tapped me on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, Miss? Do you need anything?"

I kept my eyes on his door. "No, thank you."

"How do you know Doctor Watson?" she asked kindly.

"Oh, he was um… he's my brother." My reply was very unconvincing, and from the way she smiled at me I knew she could tell.

"It's nice to see he finally has a visitor. He's doing well, you know. I got him to eat something this afternoon and he kept it down. Chocolate pudding."

I couldn't help but smile. John had such a sweet tooth; of course he would refuse to eat anything but pudding. He was so stubborn.

"Miss, I may be overstepping a boundary here, but you've been standing outside his door for more than an hour."

I forced a laugh. "Oh, really? Yeah! Wow… I just…" I shook my head, unable to come up with anything but the truth. I turned to her. "I have absolutely no idea what to say to him."

She shifted her weight. "Do you care about Doctor Watson?"

I nodded. "Very much."

"That sounds like a good place to start, don't you think?"

I nodded again. "Yes." I smiled at her.

She returned my smile and began to walk away. I took a deep breath, turned back to the room in front of me and slowly turned the knob and walked inside. It was dimly lit with the shades pulled closed and the television on mute to a news program in the top right corner. John was sleeping, his chest rising and falling steadily. He looked so thin and pale; dark circles under eyes and his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. There were tubes coming off of him everywhere; he was on oxygen and IVs and hooked up to what seemed like a dozen different machines. I put my hand over my mouth, blinking furiously. If he woke up I could not be crying. I walked over to a chair next to the side of his bed and slowly sat down, taking one of his hands in mine. I traced his fingers with my own and as I felt his skin against mine I began to feel something cold deep in my core start to thaw. I held his hand up to my face and closed my eyes, inhaling his familiar smell. I kissed his hand and put it back on his bed, keeping it between both of mine. I studied his face, memorizing every line.

"John." His name felt so familiar and safe in my mouth. "John… I am so…" I could no longer control the lump in my throat from rising. "I am so…._sorry_." I paused, breathing heavily, trying to regain composure. I shook my head. "That sounds so stupid. 'I'm sorry'. You say you're sorry when you break a glass at someone's house or accidently run in to them on the street. Not when…" I bit my lip. "You deserve so much more than an apology. So much more than… than _me._" I shook my head. "But John, that's all I've got. That's it. And it's not really a great deal for you, but… if you want me, John…. I'm all in. I'm _all_ in. I love you so much." I swallowed the same hard lump in my throat, refusing to give in. "I've never experienced anything like what you've done for me. You… you care about me, John. You care about what I think and how I feel. But it's not just me… It's Sherlock, too. It's everything… it's…" I smiled. "It's _you_,John. You are the most incredible, beautiful, wonderfully selfless person and you saved me. You showed me that… that life can mean something." I turned his hand over mine. "Look, when you wake up… I don't know if you'll ever want to see me again. I can't blame you, obviously. But… no matter what happens between you and I… I just want you to know… that I promise to do something good with my life, John. I promise."

The door opened and I jumped. I short woman stood in the doorway. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

I put John's hand down and stood up. "I'm…"

"His sister?"

"No, I'm a… a friend from work."

She crossed her arms. "Mmm. Interesting. Because I just got here from out of town to see my brother in the hospital and they told me at the front desk that his _sister_ is already here."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I just wanted to see him."

"Well he doesn't need a friend from work. He needs his family, and I'm here now. Get out." She moved out of the way of the way and pointed to the doorway.

I stood up. "Are you really going to take care of him? Are you going to stay here with him?"

She put her hands on her hips. "Of course I am! Who do you think you are to ask me something like that?!" she pointed again at the door. "Now leave!"

I nodded and moved to the doorway. "Okay, then. Okay." I felt helpless. My throat began to tighten. His sister was right, he needed his family right now. I was nothing but a complicated burden and that was the last thing he needed.

"Mary."

I stopped in my tracks, my heart skipping a beat. I turned back around to face the bed. John was awake, his eyelids heavy.

I could barely breathe. "Yes, John?"

He coughed, closing his eyes and grimacing as he did so. He re-opened his eyes, his expression warm and sincere. "Marry me."

I stood, stunned, completely in shock, our eyes locked in eachother's. I felt a tear stream down my face. His sister began to laugh. "Wow, they told me he was drugged… but he's really shit faced, isn't he?"

I closed my eyes and felt a wave of heartbreak and embarrassment rush through my entire body. "Of course, yeah. The meds." I forced a laugh and tried to discretely wipe away the tear. "Obviously. It's the meds speaking." He had closed his eyes again and I turned to leave.

"Mary needs to go now. Okay? She shouldn't even be here." His sister sat down in the chair next to his bed. She looked at me sternly. "She shouldn't have come in the first place."

I felt the weight of the world on my chest. This was it. I nodded from the doorway. "No, I shouldn't have. Not today or before." I turned to leave. "Goodbye, John." And with that, I turned and I left.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

_I would like to take this moment to thank everyone who has faithfully followed this story and given me such lovely feedback. This will be the final chapter. You can find future adventures of John, Sherlock, and Mary in my other story 'Moments in our Lives at 221B Baker Street.' _

_Also, while writing this final chapter, I listened to this song ( watch?v=F8s15Zt1S30 - Real Love as covered by Regina Spektor) on repeat. I do not own the rights to this song. It's up to you if you'd like to, but I feel like it really cements the feeling of the ending. _

_Much Love. And please enjoy._

It had been a month since I had left John at the hospital. I hadn't seen or heard from him since and though my heart was broken I had expected it to be so and somehow that seemed to help. I had gone back home to my apartment with Gladdy and we had attempted to get our lives back to normal. It was the little things that felt like victories; there was the first day I ate an entire meal, the first day I listened to a Regina Spektor song without crying, the first two consecutive days in which I took a shower, the first entire day I went through without vomiting out of guilt and loneliness. I had never experienced pain like this pain. It was different than when I was told my father and Jim were dead. It was stronger and nauseating and incredibly cruel. For a few weeks I had been allowed a taste of what it felt like to be loved, to be cherished. On top of that my whole love story had been a lie. A beautifully twisted lie. And it was killing me. But I had made a promise to John, a promise to do something good, so I continued to eat, to chew, to swallow. It didn't matter that I threw it up over and over again. I was trying. And someday, someday it had to get better. I couldn't imagine that now but that's what always happened in the movies and I knew fiction was always bound in truth.

It had be.

Sherlock was a continual presence in my life. At first when he found out I had left John at the hospital he was furious. I hadn't had the energy to explain, but eventually he became less angry and I knew he had come to the conclusion that I had done what I needed to do. We didn't talk a lot and he never told me when he was going to appear. He read a lot. I had a library in my apartment, my most prized possession. Jim had gotten it for me for my birthday when I had first moved away from home and that was almost always where I would find Sherlock. He would be sitting in my leather armchair reading a book, not always in English, mind you. He read at a remarkable pace, finishing The Odyssey in three days. I forbid him from telling me anything about John but I would ask to make sure that he was doing alright and that he had everything he needed. Though Sherlock and my relationship was sporadic and mostly silent it was also a necessity for both of us. It kept us around another human being and it somehow seemed to keep us connected to the person who we loved the most. It kept John at our fingertips.

One morning I woke up to find Sherlock, to my surprise, in the kitchen. He wasn't eating (he never ate) but was merely sitting at my table, staring into his open palms.

"Good morning, Sherlock."

"It's two in the afternoon."

"Yes, well, you lose track of regular times for things when you never go out, don't you?" I turned to the tea kettle on my stove and took it to the sink to rinse it out. "Would you like some tea? I have cinnamon tea. It's really lovely, I've been drinking it a lot lately."

He didn't move. "John's sister went home today."

I stopped what I was doing. "Why?"

"I assume she thinks he can function on his own at this point."

I began to rinse out the kettle again. "She's probably right."

He turned. "Mary…"

"No, Sherlock." I felt a familiar stinging in my eyes.

He stood up. "You're being…"

I turned to him. "What? I'm being selfish, perhaps? Heartless, maybe? Because I've been a whole list of fantastically negative things pertaining to John in the past and I'm not about to go back and put his life in danger again. Alright? End of discussion, Sherlock."

"Mary!" He yelled and got inches away from my face. I didn't back down.

"I believe I said _end of discussion_." I felt a tear slide down my face. Sherlock took a sharp intake of breathe and stood upright.

"That's better." I turned back around, wiping my tear away. "Now, I remember asking if you would like some tea."

"I don't like cinnamon."

"Drink some. You're too skinny."

I could feel his eyes burrowing into the back of my skull. "Cinnamon tea has zero calories and therefore will have absolutely no effect on my weight. End of discussion."

I turned around to face him. "Sherlock!"

He kept sharp eye contact and his voice remained calm. "I believe I said end of discussion."

I opened my mouth in angry stunned silence. "You…!" I pointed at him. "You are so…" The doorbell rang. I made an exasperated choking motion in his direction as I turned to walk through my living room and to the front door. "I don't even know _why_ I let you in my home…"

I opened the door and gasped. John was on my welcome mat on one knee, holding up a small black box with a ring. He had a look of completely sincerity on his face. "I wasn't kidding, you know. I wasn't actually on that many drugs. I was really mostly lucid."

I slammed the door and put my hands over my mouth. My knees felt like gelatin. My mind was trying to wrap itself around what had just happened unsuccessfully. I took a deep, quick breathe, realizing that I hadn't been breathing.

John's voice came from outside the door. "Um, Mary? Alright. It's alright, I'll leave, I suppose. You could've just said no, that would've been…"

I opened the door again.

He was standing now, his eyes filled with defeat. "…fine."

I felt tears begin to stream down my face. "John, I… I'm… I'm _awful._" He didn't respond. "I… don't deserve…" my voice caught in my throat. I covered my face in my hands, sliding down onto my knees. I was sobbing now, unable to control my tears.

"Mary." He knelt down in front of me. "Trust me, I know. I know all of this. I was there. I remember everything, everything you didn't tell me, everything you conveniently didn't say. And I've thought about it, I've thought about it all and the conclusion that I've come to is that you have completely taken over my heart and mind and I can't imagine the possibility of a future without you in it." He pulled my hands away from my face and lifted my chin up so we were eye to eye. "Now I will ask again and one more time. Mary Moriarty, _will you marry me_?"

I felt the answer slip from my mouth before I had another chance to think of a reason not to say it. "Yes."

He lifted his eyebrows in disbelief. "Really?"

"Really."

"I mean, Really?"

I felt my face break out into a smile. "Really really _really…"_

He pulled my face into his and kissed me hard. I felt myself completely melt into him and suddenly I was alive again; I was breathing, I was thinking, I was feeling, and I was honestly quite hungry.

I pulled back and covered my mouth. He cocked his head. "What?"

"I haven't brushed my teeth." I said through my fingers.

He threw his head back and burst out laughing. He pulled my face into his and kissed my cheek, his eyes full of joyful tears. "Now remember…" …he kissed my forehead…. "…no more secrets…" …he kissed my neck… "…except for birthdays…." … he kissed my other cheek …" "…and Christmas presents…" he kissed my mouth. "Deal?"

I smiled. "I promise."

"Good." He sat back and reached into his pocket, pulling out the little black box. "Then I believe, if I remember correctly…" He placed the ring on my finger. "This goes here."

I held out my hand. The ring was beautiful. It was a pearl set in white gold surrounded by a circle of diamonds. "It's wonderful." I whispered.

He smiled. "It was my mother's."

I looked up at him. "Oh, John… is she?"

He took my hand in his hands. "Oh, no no no. She's fine. Just fat. My father had to buy her a new one. But _this…_" he pointed at the ring. "…was the original ring my father proposed with. She gave it to me a long time ago, wanting to keep it in the family because she loved it."

I laughed. "Well, it's perfect. Your father has fantastic taste."

"Good." He smiled and pulled me in for another kiss.

Suddenly I sat up, coming to a realization. "No more secrets."

John nodded, confused. "Right. Yes."

I grabbed his arm and pulled him up, dragging him towards the kitchen. "I'm afraid I have one more bomb to drop…" I ran through the kitchen doorway. "Don't you _dare!_" I shouted.

Standing in front of us with his back facing us and halfway out my balcony door was Sherlock Holmes. I knew he wouldn't have been able to resist listening as soon as he had heard John's voice. I could see him breathing heavily. I turned to John, who's eyes were huge and mouth was hanging open. His face was completely white.

Sherlock slowly turned around. His eyes were fully bloodshot and he had a steady stream of silent tears making their way down his red face and neck.

Sherlock took a step forward and John immediately stumbled backwards until he hit the wall. He pointed at Sherlock and opened his mouth, trying to speak. "Y..y… you!" His voice caught in his throat. His breathe was coming out in sharp bursts, his eyes becoming glassy. His face screwed up, he was about to completely break down. "H..How? Sherlock…_I buried you_."

"My Dear Watson." Sherlock's voice came out in a forced whisper. "I owe you a thousand apologies. I had no idea that you would be so affected."

John, still wide eyed, slowly and stiffly began to take small steps, one at a time, toward Sherlock. They never broke eye contact. When he was about six inches away he paused and it almost seemed as if he was trying to convince himself that Sherlock was real. After a moment John then grabbed him into a hug and buried his head in Sherlock's neck. Sherlock was startled at first then slowly put his arms around John as well, his hand on the back of John's head. For the next few minutes they wept for each other. For the rest of my life I know it will be one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed.

Approximately ten minutes later John slipped into a ferocious bout of rage. He broke three dishes, the human sound barrier, and his hand on Sherlock's face.

After a quick trip the E.R. to patch up Sherlock and reset three of John's fingers the four of us (can't forget Gladdy, of course!) went back to 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson cried all over Sherlock for about twenty minutes, which he surprisingly allowed, and then made us all enough tea to drown a small army. One would think that on a day filled with so many important things that it would be ended doing something extraordinary, but in reality we ordered Chinese food and watched some of John's old tapes of Doctor Who. John and I didn't even mind when Sherlock obnoxiously critiqued every special effect and deduced the ending within the first three minutes of every episode; partially because we had seen them all before and partially because nothing could ruin the kind of happiness that filled all three of us to the brim at that exact moment in time. It was that kind of moment that can never be repeated or remembered exactly because it was almost too perfect to have happened in the first place. We all slept on the couch that night; Sherlock taking up most of it, his head on the right end of the couch and legs draped over John and I. John was half sitting up and leaning against the left arm of the couch and I had my head resting on his chest.

We all finally had everything we needed; a place to feel safe and the unconditional love of a family. Nothing else mattered. We were unstoppable, unbreakable and completely indestructible.

We were home. We were safe. Our hearts were full.

And so began our new beginning.

**The End**


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